


IKEA and No Chill

by Nobodyhasblindedme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, IKEA, Interior Designer!Marco, Novelist!Jean, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nobodyhasblindedme/pseuds/Nobodyhasblindedme
Summary: A writer and a striving interior designer move in together, the house totally unfurnished. Can't exactly watch Netflix if you don't even have a couch to sit on.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marcoandthebodts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcoandthebodts/gifts).



> So..this was my first time ever participating in this sort of event! The prompt I chose to fill, obviously, was novelist!Jean and interior designer!Marco shopping at a certain well-known furniture and appliance store, with a little hint of holiday thrown in. I hope this stands up to expectations of the boys, and happy Christmas! :>

"So...okay, so far, that's three bookshelves..." Marco glanced up again, carefully (and somewhat warily) eyeing Mount Jean's Books that had taken up residence in the second bedroom.

Thankfully, said bedroom wouldn't need to be utilized for much other then a (probably rarely used) guest room, and storage space for all the weird odds and ends the two of them had accumulated, both by themselves, and with each other. Though, Jean was still considering tuning it into an office...at some point. Which meant at the moment, all important papers, books, and office supplies were all sealed into plastic or the more traditional cardboard boxes filling more then half the room.

Man, they had a lot of junk. Even Jean couldn't site this one as being 'organized chaos'. 

Marco looked about the room, somehow feeling like it was smaller now then when they had looked at it the first time. Probably to do with the boxes shoved into the available corners, and the lack of any actual furniture, be it couches, beds, chairs desks or anything of the sort.

Marco groaned quietly to himself as he rubbed his face, the slight headache between his eyebrows. Unfurnished. They'd opted...to just buy their own furniture. All of it. 

Ok, maybe not all, but _most_ of it. So far, the master bedroom (Marco still felt a little thrill at the fact that they had a room they could call that now - no more separate beds, uncomfortable bunks that squeaked at the slightest twitch) was devoid of anything that would make it resemble a place of sleeping, the living room had a Marco's singular circle rug on the hardwood floor and shelving unit from his mother pushed into the corner, still empty. At least the dining room had a table, though it was a bit small. The previous tenant had been single, so space for more then one person to eat hadn't been a priority. Said small table was currently stacked with Jean and Marco's computer cases, various gaming equipment and movies they owned. 

"What's the damage, professor?" Jean popped his head around the corner, hair sticking every which way thanks to the hectic few days the pair'd had moving and not really having time (or a space) to style it to perfection as the writer usually liked. Marco huffed a small laugh, and turned to his partner. 

"At least two desks...a bed...two side tables, and a couch. Of some form. Oh, and probably a coffee table, knowing how you like to move around the house whenever you're doing what you do." Marco smirked and the little indignant scowl Jean sent his way, knowing full well he was right. The blond had a propensity to spread himself just about everywhere in his creative processes. 

Jean made a face at the list. "All of that? Right now?" 

Marco frowned and raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to keep sleeping on the futon mat Sasha gave us when her's broke?" 

"No." 

"Then take a one-in-a-million guess, mister..where we are going after I make sure we have a concrete idea of what we need." Marco smirked, and walked out of the second bedroom and it's overflowing content to survey another. Just to get a better idea - colors too...damn, they had so much to consider...

"Oh god...I thought it only existed n the realms of bad internet memes from two thousand ten..." Jean hissed from behind him as Marco snatched up hi phone from the crowded dining table and began snapping pictures of the sitting area. For reference.   
\-----

Fucking IKEA. 

What was it about the place, Jean wondered, that enticed the eye and scrambled the mind so? The furniture, the setups. The in-store dining area? God only knew. And the Swedish, but Jean wasn't planning on calling them up anytime soon and asking why this unholy amalgamation of every major retail and department store's wet dream attracted the unsuspecting human populace so. 

Not that Jean had God _or_ Sweden on his contacts list - besides the point. 

"Jean, c'mon, it's freezing out here, what are you doing?" Marco called from a few feet away from their (thankfully now empty of boxes and clothing) car, appropriately stylish pea coat wrapped around himself to block out the, yeah, fucking cold. Jean _could_ stand there and admire the subtle beauty that was the autumn red fabric against Marco's blue turtleneck and winter-washed skin, stark against the grey overcast and late year colors that always looked far too washed out - like a watercolor painted with an inexperienced, far-to tentative hand. But Marco clearly had other ideas. Like getting the fuck inside. 

In Jean's opinion, inside was hardly better. People seemed to be crawling out of the fake woodwork, toting around boxes of items that would leave the novelist with a knotted tongue if he ever tried to pronounce them. "You're sure IKEA is the place you want to be? I'm sure we could find some stuff at least on-" 

"Say Craig's List, and we're through." Marco commented, looking down the nearest isle-ways and maybe wondering to himself where in the world they should start. Bedrooms would probably be best...then the living room...Jean mumbled behind him as he began moving, and he glanced back. "Hm?" 

The other sighed and shook his head. "We couldn't have don this online? At all?" He asked, and for a brief few seconds, Marco considered that Jean, being a bit more of an introvert then people assumed at first meeting and far more interested in the worlds and people occupying the inside of his head and books, had had a pretty busy week, and was probably not really looking forward to having to deal with scores of humanity at the moment - even for reasonably priced, moderately fashionable, build-it-yourself furniture. But it was only briefly. 

"Of course not. You know I need to actually _see_ things to know if they'll fit." 

Jean's retort was temporarily cut off when a group of people passed, two of which were laden down with bags and unfairly large boxes. Marco waited until his fussed boyfriend had slipped past, hair perhaps just a bit more disheveled then before. Cute. 

"But we can see the sizes from the pictures! And you can order it in practically whatever color exits on this earth!" He said exasperatedly, but Marco wasn't to be deterred - Jean expected as much. 

That's what he got for dating an interior design major.

\-----

Even in the first half hour and having his shorter partner's half-assed snipes and grumbles in his ear, Marco was still having a pretty good time. It wasn't like he was hiding it either, admiring the setups and displays with...maybe more enthusiasm then Jean or the other customers cared for. Jean himself had started to get into it a little though, and was laughing every time Marco saw something "cute!" or a "must have!". 

"We don't need another rug, Marco, we've already got two, _and_ yours that's still at home." Marco grumped good-naturally at Jean, looking down at his boyfriend's own armful. "Oh, and I suppose we _do_ need those?" 

"Hey, you never know when three oversized plushies will come in handy. They're soft..." Jean cooed, sickly sweet and clutching the stuffed horse dolls to his face, peeking out at Marco from over their fuzzy manes. Marco giggled behind his hand, still not quite sure when the young writer he'd met in Lit class, all sharp edges and graceful swan-like lines with too much teeth in his tongue and cheek humor, had become this pouting, oft-sleep deprived, coffee fueled mess of a human...who was whining at him over three horse plushies in IKEA. 

"Ya alright?" Jean asked, and Marco blinked, realizing he'd been lost to his own thoughts again, staring at Jean, who was staring back with a pinched expression. "Thought you hated horses," Marco questions with a quirked brow, to which Jean takes on a very haughty tone. 

"Just because He-who-shall-not-be-named-in-my-presence enjoys comparing me to the most noble of beasts, does not mean I must carry the burden of shaming them likewise." 

"You just insulted yourself, darling."

While the writer pauses and mulls over is own words owlishly, Marco gently tugs the pillow-like creatures from his arms, smiling. "We'll see about Christmas, ok?"

In the meantime, they filled out their already full cart with some regular pillows, throw pillows for the couch they had yet to select (but that Marco had a very specific color and design in mind for), and another lamp for the non-existent work desk for Jean. And so far...none of it was over their price range, and could all be reasonably bought today. 

And here Marco was, thinking their car would finally be free of boxes...

Hell, they hadn't even gotten rid of the ones still cluttering every corner of the house back home. 

Yet...it was probably the artistic spark in him, constantly seeming to force his hand in to ever more finicky work-arounds, but flipping through the pictures he'd taken of their bedroom, it just..."Don't you feel like we have enough? We already have two comforters between us." Jean groans as Marco makes an inarticulate noise of frustration while pacing back and forth between two bed and bedside setups. That other people were also viewing. 

"I know, I know..." Marco mutters, feeling more put-off then he knows he has a right to feel. "I just - I want it-" 

"To be perfect, yeah." Jean cuts him off, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out his own cell, probably checking his email or fooling around on any of the many websites the writer uses to distract himself from his work. Marco grinds his teeth, aware that he's being a stubborn fool about something that matters, really only to him. (If Jean had his way, they'd have left an hour ago and their house would look atrocious, all clashing colors and shapes that in /no/ way go together in _any_ universe... So really he should be thanking Marco.) 

"Fine! Be that way." Marco threw up his hands at the furniture, drawing Jean's startled eyes and reaching over to pull the man away. "It's not getting done today - fine!" 

"Not another night on the futon?" Jean asked with a small grin, and Marco grumbled unintelligibly. Not terribly enthusiastic about the idea, but he could tell the both of them were done with dealing with people and unpronounceable household apparatuses. No matter what they were sleeping on, _home_ sounded as good as any bed. "Oh! Hey that reminds me. Do you wanna uh..." 

Jean cocks his head in the direction of the front of the building, towards the checkouts, a certain gleam in his eye and...Marco bites his lip. 

"You don't think we've spent enough today?" Marco admits, he's half-hoping Jean says yes. He clearly has other ideas, scrunching up his nose. It was true, with the chaotic nature of moving in and out, there hadn't been time for meals that took longer to make then fifteen or twenty minutes, or more then hot water or a microwave to make. 

"I think I've eaten enough instant noodles with sorta-healthy things added to them for a lifetime. No college student diet tonight?" 

Well, when he was so obviously begging...

\-----

"I thought you said we weren't going to be eating crap tonight?" Marco looks down in exasperation at the probably-not-little-enough container of vanilla, mango, strawberry and mocha abomination Jean is working through. Oh, and gummy bears... "Who eats ice cream in the middle of winter..." 

Jean pouts and points his spoon at him. "Complains the man who ordered a sugar-slathered, frosting coated sweet pastry. Normal people, that's who, _and_ , Mr. Persnickety, it's not ice cream. It's frozen yogurt." 

"So there?" Marco can't help but grin. Jean returns it in full. 

"So there." 

Marco knew IKEA provided decent household amenities. Who knew it provided great kisses as well?


End file.
